


Truths That No One Else Will Speak

by RobinsonsWereHere



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Psych, The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Jessica hates psychics, Post Defenders, Post Luke Cage S2, but it's okay bc her friends are there for her, ewan and frank are doing very bad things for... actually they don't even have very good reasons, i forget what's canon and what's not, i hate declan so he's evil now, im just gonna throw a LoT of pain at Jules, it goes about as well as you'd expect, misty knight is done with everyone's shit, my version of the nmcu is not exactly canon, nypd meets sbpd, oh yeah and he's related to danny, post JJ s2, pre-shules, prepare yourself, set early/mid psych season 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-04 11:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17897528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: The NYPD is determined to arrest Frank Castle. The SBPD has been chasing Ewan O'Hara for months. The pair are caught in New York after apparently causing a massacre. When Captain Misty Knight calls in Santa Barbara for assistance, she gets a bit more than she bargained for.Shawn Spencer definitely doesn't go to New York to help Jules & Lassie. No, he's just going for a vacation- after all, he's been explicitly forbidden from interfering with the O'Hara case. And if he happens to track down a couple of vigilantes, if he accidentally teams up with an unfriendly PI with a grudge against psychics, if he somehow ends up tracking down leads on that very case? Well, there is such thing as a coincidence.





	1. Convergence

**3:15am PST, Santa Barbara Police Department**

 

Karen Vick is re-reading the email she’d received for what is now the fifth time while she waits for her detectives to arrive. Thankfully, before she gets to six read-throughs, they appear, moving semi-quickly through the station as they guzzle travel mugs of coffee. “Detective O’Hara, Detective Lassiter!” She calls. “My office, please!” Once both are present, she continues. “You’re both aware that following his disappearance, the SBPD put out a request for notification should any other department in the country locate, arrest, or otherwise interact with Ewan O’Hara.”

As she’d expected, the mere mention of his name gets a reaction from both detectives in front of her. Lassiter frowns severely and O’Hara straightens, all emotion disappearing from her face.

“Have we found anything?” O’Hara asks.

“Captain Mercedes Knight of the NYPD Harlem Precinct arrested him and another suspect early this morning for over two dozen counts of first-degree murder,” Karen replies.

Lassiter blinks. O’Hara’s eyes go wide. “Over… over twenty-four?”

“Thirty-two, to be exact.”

“Who’s the other suspect?” Lassiter asks.

“That’s the issue. Frank Castle is a vigilante the NYPD has been trying to catch for a long time now.”

“New York has a lot of vigilantes,” Lassiter observes. “O’Hara, who was that chick you were telling me about, the one who snapped the guy’s neck-”

“Detective, may I continue?” Karen interrupts, folding her arms.

“Of course. Sorry, chief.”

“Captain Knight has been extremely helpful and agreed to let the SBPD in on this case. Granted, this means I have to send the two of you to New York City, but given the nature of this case, that’s a necessary step. Between our funds and the NYPD’s generous support, you’re all set for two weeks. In a perfect world, that would give you plenty of time and then some, and I’d be willing to let you use the extra as a vacation.”

“With our luck, we’ll be lucky if two weeks is all it takes,” scoffs Lassiter.

“Lassiter, although your intuition and understanding of this job is partially why you’re the Head Detective of my department, your continuous interruptions are annoying. Stop it,” Karen orders.

“Sorry, Chief.”

“As he said, if things don’t end up going smoothly, we’d rather have extra time than not enough. Better safe than sorry.”

The next question comes from O’Hara. “When do we leave?”

“You’re set to be on a plane from LAX to JFK in a little under four hours,” Karen tells them. “If you want to look over our current case file before you go, I suggest you do that now. Otherwise, go home and get packing.”

As soon as the words have left her mouth, her detectives spring into action. Karen sighs. One way or another, it’s going to be an interesting two weeks.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**Two hours earlier (4:15am EST), Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan**

Karen Page opens the door of her apartment to a pair of bruised and bleeding men, only one of whom she recognizes. “Frank,” she breathes, ushering him through the door, “who’s your friend?”

“Karen, this is Ewan O’Hara,” He grunts. “Ewan, Karen Page.”

“You sure it’s a good idea to tell her my full name?”

“Karen can help us,” Frank insists. His trust fills her with a feeling of warmth. The journalist briefly wonders what it says about her that being the confidante of a vigilante is something she’s proud of. Instead of dwelling on that, she guides Frank and Ewan to the living room and sits them on the floor.

“We don’t even get the couch?” Ewan asks, his breathing labored. She thinks it has something to do with the heavily bleeding wound in his side.

“It’s good suede,” she retorts, digging through her bag for the burner phone with Claire’s number. “Nobody gets to bleed on it unless they’re fewer than ten minutes from death.”

Frank snorts and Ewan chuckles as Karen dials the phone. “You remind me of my sister,” the taller man tells her. Karen doesn’t get a chance to respond before Claire picks up.

_”Hello?”_

“Claire, it’s Karen,” she says. “Frank and… one of his friends are at my place, and they’re in pretty bad shape. Frank’s got a bullet wound in his left shoulder and a gash that I think is from a knife on his right forearm. Ewan has a more severe stab wound in his stomach and several smaller knife wounds on his arms and chest.”

_”Alright, I’m on my way. Try to clean the smaller wounds and make sure to keep pressure on the more severe ones. I’ll see you in ten,”_ Claire promises.

Karen blows out a breath, a few strands of her hair fluttering as she does. “See you then.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**7am PST, LAX airport, Los Angeles**

Having successfully passed through airport security, Juliet sends a silent prayer to the travel gods, glad for an uneventful arrival. “Carlton,” she says, “Thank you for putting your gun in checked baggage this time.

“It’s a ridiculous rule,” he grumbles.

“No, it’s really not,” she counters with a frown.

“Whatever,” he says. “Gate eight A, right?”

“Again, no,” Juliet corrects. “Nine B.”

“No, look, it says right here,” her partner insists, holding up his ticket.

“Carlton, that’s your seat number,” she tells him with a sigh of exasperation.

“Oh.”

They find gate nine B without much difficulty and are, in fact, fifteen minutes early for their flight. “Want a coffee?” She asks.

“Yes, please,” comes the eager reply. Both detectives stand and walk in opposite directions. “Where are you going?” Lassiter asks. Juliet points at a Starbucks three feet away. “I’m not going to _Starbucks,”_ he scoffs. “Look, it says on that sign that there’s a cafe at the other end of the gate.”

Juliet contemplates explaining the concept of ‘airport food’ to her partner but decides against it, choosing instead to follow him across the gate. She hopes she remembered to pack her advil somewhere accessible.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**4:30am EST, Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan**

 

Captain Misty Knight is good at a lot of things. She has a lot of skills. Patience is not one of them. For the third time, Brett Mahoney knocks on the door to Karen Page’s apartment, and for the third time, he receives no answer. She’s had enough.

“Alright, Sergeant,” she mutters. “Let me show you how we do it down in Harlem.” She reaches over him and knocks on the door with her metal arm, which creates a much more satisfying effect than Mahoney’s tapping. “NYPD!” She calls. “C’mon, Page, don’t make me charge you with harboring a fugitive!”

At last, the door opens. The blonde reporter is wearing pajamas, her blue eyes blinking in a poor facsimile of drowsiness. “Captain Knight,” she greets. “Sorry if I’m a bit slow on the uptake, but it’s half past four in the morning, so I’m not quite firing on all cylinders yet. What fugitives am I harboring?”

“Don’t screw around with me, Page,” Misty warns. “There’s been a massacre in a warehouse in the overlap zone that has Frank Castle written all over it.”

“Overlap zone?” Karen asks. Misty can tell she’s stalling, but she doesn’t hear anything that would indicate Castle’s trying to make an escape, so she plays along.

“It’s a slang term we use at the department for the area that’s almost on the border of the Hell’s Kitchen and Harlem precinct jurisdictions,” she elaborates.

“Oh,” Karen responds, shifting in the doorway. She’s clearly restraining herself from looking over her shoulder. Misty decides she’s had enough.

“Alright,” she sighs. “Out of my way or I’ll push past you.” Without waiting, she does just that, though Karen does move aside. “Frank Castle, you’re under arrest-” Misty starts, before being interrupted by a familiar voice.

“If you want these boys to last longer than a few hours in custody, you’ll let me finish with ‘em first,” says Claire Temple. She's bent over a man Misty doesn't recognize, stitching up a bloody stomach wound. “Mr. O’Hara here has a pretty deep knife wound.”

“Okay, then, Temple, you can finish up, and then I suggest we all pretend you were never here,” Misty relents. She turns to the man Hell’s Kitchen has nicknamed ‘The Punisher’, who is currently leaning into Page’s chest as she bandages a wound on his shoulder. If it weren’t for the excess amount of blood and the fact that he’s killed literal dozens of people, the scene would be almost domestic. “You making friends now, Castle?”

Frank gives a belabored sigh. “I plead the fifth.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

**2pm EST, Somewhere Above Illinois**

Lassiter was trying very hard to listen to what his partner was saying about the case, but there were two screaming toddlers behind him and he physically could not stretch his legs beyond a ninety degree angle. It was safe to say he was having a bit of trouble concentrating. Heaving another sigh, he tuned back into the end of her sentence.

“-Barely willing to shoot one murderer in the head,” Juliet is saying. “And now we’ve got a massacre on our hands? My question is- well, I have two. One, what happened between a year ago and now? Two, who, exactly, is Frank Castle?”

“I don’t know, O’Hara,” he responds. “The only thing we know for sure at the moment is that they’re both murderers.”

“Excuse me,” interrupts the elderly woman next to him, “Could you please keep your voices down? Some of us would rather not hear about such gruesome subject matter.”

Lassiter is really regretting letting O’Hara have the window seat. The head detective lets his head fall back against his headrest, trusting his partner to smooth over the conversation. She doesn’t disappoint.

“We’re sorry, ma’am,” Juliet apologizes. “We’ll be more considerate. Our apologies.”

“You apologized twice,” he grunts, not opening his eyes.

“And you apologized zero times,” she retorts, her tone righteous. Lassiter doesn’t bother responding to that.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

**4pm EST, NYPD Harlem Precinct**

“Thanks for being so cooperative with your information, Chief,” Misty says as Karen Vick answers the phone. “I’d like to check a few things with you before your detectives get here. First of all, who has the lead on this case?”

_”It’s a bit tricky, as it always is when we’re forced to reopen closed cases, but Detective O’Hara was the arresting officer, which makes her the lead now.”_ Karen replies.

“Alright. And Ewan O’Hara is her brother?”

_”That’s correct.”_

“I trust your judgement, but I want to double-check: Detective O’Hara’s connection to our perp won’t interfere with her ability to do her job, will it?”

_”I assure you it will not, Captain Knight. I’d like to thank you again for being so accommodating and for letting the SBPD into your investigation. You are working with Santa Barbara’s Finest and I have every confidence that we will be able to resolve this case in no time.”_

Misty looks up from her computer to see one of her desk clerks leading two people in suits through the bullpen. Even if she couldn’t see the badges at their waists, she’d know these were the very detectives she was discussing. “Chief Vick, it looks like your detectives have arrived,” she says into her phone. “I look forward to updating you later.” With that she stands, moves out from behind her desk, and greets the man and woman in front of her.

“Welcome to Harlem. I’m Captain Knight.”


	2. Fully Explosive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Truth is not fully explosive, but purely electric. You don't blow the world up with the truth, you shock it into motion."  
> -Criss Jami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misty has already arrested Frank and Ewan, but can she keep them in jail?
> 
> Our favorite psychics are headed for New York.

**1:00pm PST, Psych Office, Santa Barbara**

Gus sighs in resignation as he enters the Psych office. The place hasn’t been anything that could be called ‘clean’ for years, but recently it’s gotten increasingly more trashed. There are half-empty containers and miscellaneous papers spread everywhere, and Maroon 5 is playing loudly from the radio. In the middle of it all is his best friend, Shawn Spencer, looking dejected as he spins slowly in a desk chair.

“You’ll be happy to know we’re going to get paid soon, Gus,” Shawn says, not looking up. “The robber had a brother who was in town that nobody knew about. They’re staying in a hotel in the city. The cops should be able to catch them there if they go before the end of the day today. You wanna take my report down to the station and get our paycheck?”

Gus furrows his brow, stepping over a destroyed cardboard box to stand in front of Shawn. “Why shouldn’t we both go? Are you seriously avoiding Juliet?”

Shawn’s lips twist into a pucker of discomfort. “No…” he lies.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? It’s only been a few weeks since she started dating Dec-”

Shawn holds up a hand. “We do not speak of the unfairly rich and attractive demon,” he scolds.

Gus groans. “That’s it. You’re coming with me to the station, and once we get paid, we’re closing Psych for a week. We need a vacation.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

**4:30pm EST, NYPD Harlem Precinct, Manhattan**

It’s the first time Juliet O’Hara has seen her brother in almost a year, and he’s sitting in an interrogation room. Ewan barely even looks at her before he jerks angrily at the cuffs on his wrists, glaring at Lassiter. “She can’t be here,” he growls. “I don’t want her mixed up in this. Get her _out,”_ he demands.

Juliet’s blood runs cold with fury and she steps forward. _”She_ is standing right here,” she says, keeping her voice even, though she’s sure her tone belies her anger. “The only thing I’m _mixed up in_ is a murder investigation. Could you two _please_ explain your part in that?” She leans forward over the table, glaring at both of the men. Ewan opens his mouth to speak, but the door bangs open, revealing two new men in suits.

“Mr. O’Hara, I’m Matthew Murdock, of the firm Nelson & Murdock,” says the one in red sunglasses who’s carrying a cane. “This is my partner, Foggy Nelson. We’re your attorneys. Please don’t say anything further.”

“We don’t want or need attorneys,” Frank Castle argues.

“Uh, yeah you do,” laughs Lassiter from his vantage point behind Juliet. She elbows him.

“First of all, the detective is right, you do need us. Second of all, you may not want us but your girlfriend would like us to represent you, and we owe her a favor or two,” explains Matt Murdock.

Juliet folds her arms and glowers icily at the lawyers. Foggy Nelson beams at her, then nudges his partner. “Matt, she’s giving you a pretty solid death glare here. I felt like you should know,” he informs him solemnly.

Matt half-smiles, turning towards Juliet as he holds out a hand in her general direction. “I get that a lot, Detective…”

She shakes his hand, inwardly bracing herself for the inevitable reaction to her next words. “Juliet O’Hara.”

“O’Hara?” Nelson and Murdock repeat simultaneously.

“Are you two related?” Foggy asks, gesturing between her and Ewan.

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately!?” Ewan calls, still wound up. “Juliet, what did I do wrong? I’m your brother!”

“You killed a dozen people!”

Ewan starts to respond to that, but Matt holds out a hand. “Is it possible this case should be reassigned due to a conflict of interest?”

“Negative,” comes Captain Knight’s reply from the corner of the room. “It’s already been discussed with the SBPD. The investigative team for this case will not be subject to change.”

“I hate to contradict you, Captain,” an unfamiliar woman says, slipping into the interrogation room, “but Homeland Security also has stakes in the Castle case. Your investigative team is going to change at least one more time.”

Juliet straightens, and beside her, Lassiter does the same. Given their track record with higher government agencies, she feels like they should try to make the best first impression possible.

“O’Hara and Lassiter, right?” The dark-skinned woman says. “I’m Agent Madani. Nice to meet you.”

Juliet doesn’t even have to look at her partner to know he’s developing an instantaneous crush that will not bode well for their reputation at the NYPD. She shakes Madani’s hand and gives the agent a polite smile. On the other side of the small room, Nelson and Murdock are having a whispered argument that reminds her of the ones Shawn and Gus have. After a minute or so, they straighten, and Matthew smiles tightly.

“Detectives, if you don’t mind, we’d like a few words in private with our clients. Captain Knight, I assume the civilian consultation room is open?”

“It is,” Misty says. Juliet pays careful attention to both the skepticism in her voice and the suspicion in her expression- brow raised, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. There’s something off about these lawyers, and it’s not that one of them is blind.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

**1:30pm PST, SBPD Bullpen, Santa Barbara**

Gus is finalizing the paperwork to get their paycheck in the Chief’s office. Shawn, with his rather short attention span, has wandered off. He’s currently skulking behind a pillar that would ordinarily give him a great view of his favorite detective. Only, today there’s not a detective in sight. Shawn sees no sign of Jules or Lassie. Potential for awkward encounters with the woman he’s maybe-sort of-completely in love with almost nonexistent, the psychic ventures out from behind his pillar in search of his dad. Henry Spencer is right where he’s supposed to be.

“Hey Dad,” Shawn greets, sitting on the edge of the desk. “You haven’t seen Jules or Lassie recently, have you?”

“They’re in New York. Get off my desk,” Henry responds.

Shawn ignores the second part. “New York? Why?”

“Working a case.”

“New York isn’t exactly inside their jurisdiction,” Shawn prods.

“There are extenuating circumstances, Shawn, which I’m not going to tell you, because you are not on this case. And no, I won't put you on it, so don’t bother asking. Now get off of my desk,” Henry repeats, giving Shawn a look.

Shawn opens his mouth to respond, but Gus interrupts from across the room. “Shawn!” he yells. “No new cases! I meant it when I said we were taking a vacation!”

“I one hundred percent agree, buddy,” Shawn calls back, an idea beginning to form. He matches Gus’ stride as they leave the station. “You know, I think I know just where we should go…”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

**4:40pm EST, Harlem Precinct Conference Room, Manhattan**

Matt listens to the ticking noise only long enough to be certain of its origin, then turns to his clients. “If you’d consulted me before planning your, ah, diversion, I would have advised you not to do so,” he says quietly.

“Oh, don’t start, Red,” Frank mutters.

“What diversion?” Asks Foggy.

Ewan O’Hara is distressed. Matt can hear his heart pounding and his teeth gnashing and the shift of his muscles as he twists his arm to look at his wristwatch. Unfortunately, he can also smell the nervous sweat.

“Castle, if your bomb goes off anywhere near my sister, you can forget any sort of deal with me,” growls the soldier.

“Bomb? What bomb!?” Foggy exclaims, his voice rising an octave. Now his heartbeat is also speeding up, but Matt tunes that out, trying to get a sense of the rest of the station.

“You can relax, Mr. O’Hara, your sister is still in the interrogation room. Those are heavily reinforced, not to mention on the other side of the building. Frank, were you relying on me being your lawyer, or did you assume that any public defender you ended up with would agree to a private conference?”

Frank doesn’t respond, but instead sits down in a chair. “Ewan, you heard him. Your sister’s fine, now sit down. You’re gonna give us away.”

“How does he know that?” demands Ewan.

“Did you two actually plant a bomb!?” Foggy squeaks.

Matt waves his hand in a placating gesture. “Foggy, you should take a few steps backward.”

“Why? What the hell is go-”

The ticking stops.

Something much louder happens.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

**4:43pm EST, Harlem Precinct Interrogation Room, Manhattan**

Lassiter is caught off guard by the tremor that rumbles through the precinct; everyone is. O’Hara presses herself against the wall and shrinks down, Knight draws her weapon and drops into a crouch, and Madani steadies herself on the metal table. She’s clearly unfazed, Lassiter notes with admiration.

The detective himself had also crouched on the ground. With one hand he'd pulled a chair towards him for a shield and with the other he’d reached for his partner by reflex. When it’s clear the building isn’t about to crumble around them, the four officers stand.

“Captain Knight,” Lassiter deadpans, “I think something exploded.”

“Have you received any bomb threats recently?” Queries Agent Madani.

“No we have not,” Mutters Knight, exiting the room. Lassiter and O’Hara follow, hot on her heels, until they reach the conference room. Sure enough, there’s a sizable hole in the wall, and Frank Castle and Ewan O’Hara have disappeared.

“Murdock, what the hell happened?” Captain Knight demands. The blind lawyer is helping his friend off the ground, but neither appears harmed.

“I didn’t see anything,” Murdock shoots back. Lassiter exchanges a glance with O’Hara. Something is up with these lawyers.

“I know damn well you didn’t _see_ anything,” the captain retorts. “I’ll fill in the gaps for you: a bomb went off. Your clients have fled the scene. Did you have anything to do with this?”

“Of course not,” Matt replies, voice calm. Lassiter doesn’t think he’s lying, but he’s still wearing the ridiculous glasses, so he can’t say for sure.

“You boys are more trouble than you’re worth,” she growls. “I’m pretty damn close to banning you from my precinct.”

“Technically, if any of our clients are in your precinct, that’s a violation of the Miranda Rights,” points out Foggy Nelson.

“Currently, your clients _aren’t_ in my precinct!”

“Hey, Misty!” Calls a new voice. Lassiter turns to see a scowling woman in a leather jacket striding towards them. “Can I get paid for that bail-jumper I found for you without getting blown up, or is that too much to ask?”

“I’m a little busy right now, Jones,” says Captain Knight with a frown.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little broke,” she retorts.

“Sorry, who are you?” Asks Lassiter.

“Jessica Jones, Alias Investigations,” she replies in a monotone.

“A PI?”

“That’s one word for it.”

Lassiter groans. This earns him an elbow to the ribs from O’Hara. Before she can apologize for him, Misty speaks.

“Jones, seems pretty convenient that you and Murdock both happen to be here when my station explodes,” she ventures, clearly suspicious.

“More like unlucky,” deflects Jessica.

“Why would they be involved in this?” O’Hara asks.

“Past experience,” Knight answers cryptically.

“Come on, Misty, you know I don’t do this shit,” complains Jones.

“Alright, then, you’re not involved in this, get your ass down to the payments office and let me be,” Misty snaps.

“My pleasure,” the PI mutters, stalking off.

“What now, Captain Knight?” Asks Nelson.

“Your work here is done,” she answers. “As for the rest of you…” the captain’s gaze sweeps over Lassiter, O’Hara, and Madani. “I hope you know how to conduct a manhunt.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**11:00pm EST, 48th St Hotel, Manhattan**

Gus can’t believe his eyes. He knew he should’ve been suspicious of Shawn’s willingness to take a vacation. “Is this why you wanted to come to New York?” He questions.

“Well, I was all set for our amazing vacation, but then the spirits spoke to me,” Shawn replies.

“And by ‘spirits’ you mean you hacked the NYPD databases.”

“Precisely.”

“You know that’s illegal?”

“Not if I don’t get caught.”

Gus decides this isn’t an argument he’s going to win. “I bet you’re not even taking me to see _Rent,_ are you?”

“Sure thing, Gus. But… maybe after we find Ewan.”

The pharmaceutical salesman gives a frustrated sigh. “I can’t believe you, Shawn,” he huffs. “I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight, buddy.”

“Good- No! I’m so annoyed with you right now, I’m not even going to say goodnight!”

“Gus, don’t be-”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Shawn! I’ll be whatever I damn well please!” 

This may well be the worst vacation Burton Guster has ever had. He wishes he were more surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I,,, love writing this so much. I can't wait for y'all to see the next chapter- Jess, Shawn, and Gus are a god-tier team up.
> 
> Kudos and Comments make me happy!!!!


	3. Don't Leave Me Here Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't really know what 'I love you' means. I think it means, 'don't leave me here alone'."  
> \- Neil Gaiman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as the normal ones! Hope you like it!

**9:36am, Soledad Temple’s Diner, Harlem**

Juliet frowns as she stirs her coffee, not feeling hungry enough to eat the egg sandwich she’d ordered. She sips at her drink and stares out the window.

“You need to eat something,” her partner mutters, stabbing a fork into his own meal. “You didn’t eat last night when we got back to the hotel and you’ve only had coffee this morning.”

“Alright already,” she retorts, picking up her sandwich and taking a bite. It’s a very good sandwich, and despite the fact that her stomach had been in nervous knots a minute ago, she can’t put it down. She makes a noise of appreciation. For the next few minutes the detectives are silent as they watch out the window, intrigued by New York's cast of characters. Around them, the diner buzzes with a multitude of languages. Then, when she’s got about a quarter of her sandwich left, Juliet’s phone buzzes.

Her brows knit together as she reads. It’s a text from Shawn Spencer, of all people, and it contains nothing but an address. Oddly enough, it appears to be a few streets down from where she and Lassiter are now.

“Hey, Carlton, can you look up this address?” She asks. At his confirmation, she reads it off, then texts Shawn back as her partner researches.

_What?_ She types.

A reply comes in seconds. **The spirits have informed me that the people you’re looking for are there.**

“It’s a work facility under construction,” Lassiter says aloud. “Hang on, I’m looking up the company.”

_How sure are the spirits?_ Juliet texts.

**They’ve given me one of the clearest visions I’ve ever had.**

“Got it,” says Carlton. “Rand Robotics. It’ll be a branch of their R&D Department when it opens at the end of this month.”

“Let’s check it out,” Juliet suggests, standing and dropping a few bills on the table that will pay for their meal.

“Rand Robotics…” Lassiter mutters as they leave. She hears the unspoken question in his words.

“I’m sure it’s unrelated,” Juliet says with confidence. Then she pulls out her phone and dials.

_”Shawn Spencer, Psychic Extraordinaire, I’ve been expecting your ca-”_

“What are you doing in New York?” Juliet demands. Lassiter gives her a sideways look at the tone; he doesn’t know who she’s talking to, or where she got the address.

_”Gus and I decided we needed a vacation,”_ Shawn responds. Juliet can hear Gus in the background, who sounds like he disagrees.

“Oh, yes, I always spend my vacations chasing down wanted fugitives,” Juliet retorts sarcastically. Next to her, her partner grows increasingly more confused.

_”Jules, I can’t help what I’m doing when the spirits call!”_ Shawn says. _”I am but a messenger of the news of other realms.”_

“Well, we’re almost there, Shawn,” She tells him. Lassiter’s reaction to the name would be funny, if she wasn’t preoccupied with so many other things; he whips towards her with an outraged expression on his face and nearly trips over an unlevel bit of concrete. She ignores him and returns to her conversation. “I’m going to hazard a guess that you’re not supposed to be on this case.”

_”Well, no, but if I just happen to be in the area, and provide you with helpful information, that doesn’t really count as ‘on the case’. Especially if we don’t get paid.”_ Before Juliet can respond to that, she hears Gus again, still unintelligible, but angrier. _”Okay, apparently this is an issue with Gus here. I gotta deal with that now, Jules. We’ll meet you at the Rand building.”_

“No you will not, Shawn!” Juliet exclaims. “Shawn?” Of course, he’s hung up on her.

This will be fun.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**9:51am EST, Future Rand Robotics R &D Location, Hell’s Kitchen**

Any head start Shawn and Gus might have had in getting to the place is negated by the time they’d spent arguing, so they arrive about the same time as Jules and Lassie. Actually, they arrive half a minute behind them. Despite their badges, the detectives are being held up by three people, two of them tall men and the third a smaller asian woman. The woman has at least three knives on her person.

Shawn groans as he recognizes the dark-haired man. “Declan Rand,” he says, forcing a smile. “What brings you to New York?”

“I’m, ah, trying to get more involved in the family business,” Declan responds.

“What business would that be? Hiding murderers?” Gus elbows him, and Juliet is giving him a look, but Shawn can’t help himself.

Declan laughs awkwardly. “Um, no. It’s a robotics company.”

“I thought you get rich through a family inheritance,” Shawn says. Beside Declan, the blond man in the black hoodie is bouncing on the balls of his feet and glaring at the pseudo-profiler. He seems angry.

“Well, yes. It just so happens that part of the inheritance was a robotics company.”

_”My_ robotics company,” corrects the disheveled man. 

“Danny,” sighs the woman next to him.

“My name’s on the company too, Danny,” mutters Declan.

“Not for long,” grumbles Danny Rand. Declan glares at him. Abruptly, the blond turns to face the cops in front of him. “I’m sorry, did you say you were dating?” He asks Juliet. Shawn flinches involuntarily.

_”Danny,”_ says the knife woman. He ignores her.

“I just- I know you’re not dating him for his stellar personality, and I guess he’s conventionally attractive, but, well, if you’re dating him for his fortune, you should know that every penny of that ‘inheritance’ is blood money. Every single cent,” he divulges.

“You think you’re so much better than me?” Declan growls. “You think your fancy karate skills make you invincible? Just because you shunned our entire family after they died makes you less a part of it? Is that it?” He’s facing Danny now, arms crossed. Danny’s face is contorted in a sneer and his fists are clenched. With the lighting in the room, it almost looks like they’re glowing.

Just when Shawn is worried they’re going to start fighting in the middle of the room, Juliet steps in. _Of course,_ thinks the psychic, sighing with relief. _She’s not one to let personal feelings get in the way of her investigation._

The Rand boys are clearly not relieved. Juliet shoves them roughly apart, glaring ferociously. “I don’t give a shit about who owns the damn company,” she says in a cold tone. “I want to know the location of Frank Castle and Ewan O’Hara. We have reason to believe they may be in this building. Now, tell me what I want to know, or I’ll arrest all three of you with obstruction of justice.”

“Fifth floor, there are only three offices constructed, the second one on the right. Castle and O’Hara are hiding out in there,” Declan says. Danny’s eyes flash, but he doesn’t go after Declan with Juliet between them. Juliet stalks wordlessly toward the stairs, Lassie in her wake. As Shawn follows, he hears Declan speak quietly to Danny.

“You want me to keep your secrets, you keep mine.”

Shawn takes a deep breath and barely manages to keep from punching him. Barely.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**10:00am EST, Office of Nelson & Murdock, Hell’s Kitchen**

Karen carefully flips over her notebook and closes a few tabs as Misty walks in. She’s already under suspicion because of her connection to Frank; the last thing she needs is for the police captain to find her researching the O’Hara family as well.

“Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock are preparing to meet a client at the moment,” she says, slipping into ‘secratary mode’. “How may I help you?”

Misty smirks. “I’m actually here for you, Ms. Page,” she answers. “Were you aware that Frank Castle and Ewan O’Hara have escaped police custody?”

Karen was very aware of that fact; she’d met them in the back of Soledad Temple’s diner and demanded to know what the hell they were doing. “No, actually, I hadn’t heard that,” she lies with a frown. “What happened? Do you know where they are?”

“The details of their escape are part of an ongoing case, so I can’t tell you that. As for where they are, I’ve got a team finding them now,” Misty replies.

“Are you part of that team, or did you track me down to threaten me off record?” Karen queries with a wry smile.

“You’ve seen me work, Page. You know I’m not one to send a bunch of uniforms out while I sit and wait.”

“So this round of intimidation is on the record, then.”

“I’m not here to intimidate,” Misty refutes, but the way she steps forward, her eyes hard and her hands on her hips, says otherwise.

“Then why are you here?”

“I am in pursuit of justice. Castle and O’Hara have killed over thirty people. If you have any information, telling me could save lives.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, Captain Knight, but I know nothing,” Karen says.

Misty’s eyes narrow. “I call bull.”

Before Karen can respond, Misty’s phone rings. Karen catches a glimpse of the screen, but it’s only a number, no Caller ID.

“Captain Knight,” Misty answers. Something on the other end makes her scowl. “Rand? Are you kidding me!?” Then, “What do you mean they were _gone?”_

After a few more seconds of listening, she swears. “Alright, regroup. We’ll meet back at the station. If you find Madani, ask her where the hell she’s been. What? Yeah, okay, call your chief. Harlem Precinct in ten.”

Karen raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

Misty pivots and stalks towards the door. “None of your goddamn business.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**10:28am EST, NYPD Harlem Precinct, Manhattan**

Juliet watches attentively as Misty paces behind her desk, stopping occasionally to examine the crime scene photos on the wall behind her.

“I’m not getting anything from the pictures,” Shawn says, slurping at a gatorade. The psychic is slumped sideways in a chair, his feet in Gus’ lap as he leans against Lassiter. Juliet can tell this arrangement is going to go South in a few seconds; her partner’s expression is darkening.

“The pictures won’t help us at this point,” Misty murmurs.

“They might,” Shawn argues. “Or if I could get to the crime scene, or see the bodies at the morgue… did we ever recover the guns?”

“No, which you would know if you ever listened,” Lassiter growls. “Now get off me.”

“But Lassie, you’re so comfortable!”

“What we’re doing right now isn’t working,” Misty says, raising her voice to be heard over Shawn and Carlton’s argument. “We need to approach this from a different angle.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Agent Madani?” Lassiter asks.

“No. If she couldn’t be bothered to show, that’s on her,” Knight replies.

“Also, she might be in on it,” adds Shawn.

Misty turns to face him. “What?”

“C’mon, we all know the only reason Ewan’s not in a jail cell right now is because some government agent didn’t want him to be. Who’s to say Homeland Security isn’t involved?”

“Oh, hell no. I am not going to wage a war against the US government because of your dumbass conspiracy theory,” says Knight. “I’d like to keep my job.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve got a good feeling-”

“Shawn!” Juliet interjects, louder than she’d intended.

“Yes?”

“Stop talking,” she orders, resisting the urge to massage away the headache pulsing at her temples.

“Oh, c’mon, Jules, you know you can use my expertise. You’re the one who put me on this case,” Shawn whines.

“Exactly. I’m the one who put you on the case, so if I wanted to, I could have you and Gus on the next plane back to Santa Barbara. So, be quiet,” she demands.

Shawn stops talking. Everyone else in the room regards Juliet with impressed expressions. Then, Captain Knight continues. 

“As I was saying, our normal investigation tactics aren’t working. Detective O’Hara, do you think your… consultants would be able to, ah, fly under the radar and investigate separately?”

“Yes…” Juliet answers tentatively. “But they are not familiar with the area. The last thing we want is Shawn and Gus loose in Manhattan.” She sees Shawn prepare to object, but Gus cuts him off.

“She’s right, Shawn,” he points out.

Shawn is quiet for a second, but then he jumps out of his chair, raising a hand to his temple. “I see something!” He exclaims. Misty raises an eyebrow, and it occurs to Juliet that most people aren’t as used to Shawn’s antics as she and her partner. “I see a- a woman,” the psychic continues. “She’s dressed in dark clothing, actually, she’s really just kind of, made of shadow, but I’m getting a very strong aura of hostility, I- who is she? She can help us!” He cries dramatically.

“Jessica Jones?” Asks Misty. Juliet recognizes the name as belonging to the surly PI from the day before. 

“Yes?” Shawn says, pronouncing the syllable as if it’s a question.

“She’s a local PI that occasionally helps us with cases,” Misty explains, aware that Shawn and Gus hadn’t been present when the detectives had met her. “She would know the city well, and if you three worked together, you’d have a lot more flexibility that what Police Protocol allows.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Shawn asks. “Where can we find this ‘Jessica Jones’?”

“She runs Alias Investigations,” Misty replies. I’ll give you her card. Do you two know how to ride the subway?”

“Of _course_ we know how to ride the subway,” Shawn scoffs. Misty raises and eyebrow. “I mean, how hard could it be?” he says. The police captain only shakes her head.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**11:13am EST, Alias Investigations, Hell’s Kitchen**

Jessica is reading the NYPD file on the latest Castle massacre when she hears an insistent knocking at her door. “Jessica Jones?” Calls an unfamiliar voice.

She opens the door to find two men she doesn’t recognize, one in jeans and an Apple Jacks tshirt and the other in khakis and a purple button down. “Can I help you?” She asks.

Apple Jacks Guy holds out a hand. “Shawn Spencer, Psychic Detective. I work with the-”

Jessica doesn’t let him finish. “Nuh-uh. I don’t deal with psychics.” He tries to keep her from slamming the door on him, but underestimates her strength (they all do) and is shoved into the hallway. 

“Um, I feel like there’s been a misunderstanding!” Calls the man in khakis.

“Yeah, we’re with the police!” Adds the first guy.

“Captain Knight says you sometimes help her?”

Jessica yanks the door open. “Get in here. Sit on the couch. Don’t fucking move,” she orders, glaring. Both obey her, though the dark-skinned man seems fearful. She stands a few paces away, out of reach but well within earshot, and dials Misty.

_”Captain Knight,”_ she answers.

“Knight, why the hell did you send a bunch of _psychics_ to my office?”

_“They’re PIs from California, with the detectives you met earlier. We need them to be able to ‘color outside the lines’, so to speak, on this investigation, but they can’t do that without you.”_

“Why the hell not?”

_”Jones, it took them over half an hour to get from my station to your office. I cannot in good faith set these clowns loose in Manhattan. It would do a hell of a lot more harm than good.”_

“So I’m babysitting?”

_”No. You’re investigating. The three of you can help us get at this case in a whole new way,_ if _you work together.”_

“They’re trustworthy?” Jessica asks skeptically.

_”Yes. And good at their jobs.”_

“Is their paycheck coming out of mine?”

_”No. They’re paid by the SBPD, you’re paid by my precinct.”_

“Fine,” Jessica snaps. “But if he tries any weird shit, I’m throwing him off my fire escape.” Without waiting for a reply, she hangs up the phone.

“Alright,” she says to the men on her couch. “I’m Jessica Jones. Who’re you?”

“Shawn Spencer, this is my partner-”

“Burton Guster,” interrupts the partner. Spencer looks put out.

“Who’s the psychic?” Jessica asks.

“That would be me,” Spencer informs her.

“What do you mean by ‘psychic’?”

“I have visions of things that have happened, and, far less often, events that will come to pass,” he answers. “I commune with any spirits that may be nearby. I am also good at sensing auras from most, if not all, people I meet.”

“Do you read minds?”

“No. I can obtain feelings, especially strong ones like fear, guilt, or love, but I really never get clear thoughts. Even from my own brain,” he adds with a laugh.

She glares at him one last time, then turns back to her desk. “Come take a look at this case file,” she mutters. Behind her, Shawn and Gus exchange looks.

“Dude, I think we passed her test,” Shawn stage-whispers.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**1:45pm EST, Colleen Wing’s Dojo, Hell’s Kitchen**

“I understand why you did it, Danny, and I am in no way trying to alter your moral compass, but I think you’re a little too impulsive,” Colleen sighs.

“I didn’t mean to make things harder for Frank,” Danny says apologetically. “But… I thought I was handling things, I thought I was balancing my company and The Iron Fist. And then my freaking _cousin_ shows up out of nowhere and I have to fight the same battle all over again.”

“Did you seriously just say ‘freaking’?” Asks Luke. 

Colleen gives him a look. “Not the point, Luke.”

“Seriously, though. Look at the kid! He can’t even curse right, you really think he should be running a company?”

“Says the man whose catchphrase is ‘Sweet Christmas’,” Danny retorts. In his sweats and hoodie, with an indignant pout on his face, he does look a bit like a child. Colleen just barely manages to hide a smile.

“Alright, boys, simmer down,” she chides. “Danny, you are absolutely the best CEO Rand Robotics has had in decades. Luke, you’ve got a god damned swear jar at your place, for crying out loud, so you can’t talk. What’s done is done, so let’s not waste too much time complaining.”

“Right,” Danny agrees. “I mean, Frank and his friend are asleep in the basement right now, right?” He asks. Colleen nods in confirmation. “So, we just need to keep them hidden there until Claire gets off her shift tonight so she can tell us what to do next.” More nodding ensues.

“She’s going to tell us to turn them in, or throw them out, or at the very least, she’ll fix them up while muttering under her breath about how we’re all idiots. Guys, it’s Claire Temple. We’ve been through stuff like this before,” Luke points out.

“Still,” Colleen sighs, “she knows what she’s doing. That’s more than can be said for a lot of us.”

Colleen bends into a bridge and stays there, enjoying the stretch. Danny begins to meditate. Luke, muttering about ninjas, wanders off in the direction of the kitchen.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**9:38pm EST, 48th St Hotel, Manhattan**

Juliet is not in a good mood. The night before, she’d been disappointed that they hadn’t caught Ewan. Twenty-four hours later, she still hasn’t caught him, and her chances are looking slim. New York is confusing and cold and she feels as though all of the skills she relies on to do her job have suddenly vanished from her repertoire. The blonde detective stands on the balcony of her sixth-floor hotel room, pressed against the wall and trying to focus on the view and not the height. She doesn’t want to be up here and it’s definitely not making her feel better, but if the alternative is enduring Carlton’s attempts at empathy that come off as treating her like she could shatter at any moment, she’ll take the balcony.

Suddenly, a shadowy form drops down onto the balcony next to her. As Juliet’s eyes adjust, she recognizes Jessica Jones. Before she can ask for an explanation, the door to the next room opens and Shawn steps onto the adjacent deck. “Hey Jules,” he greets. “Uh, this isn’t going to make you feel _better,_ per se, but Jess and I found some information.”

Juliet’s brow furrows and she waits for him to elaborate, but instead, the roof-hopping PI hands her a file. Flipping through it, Juliet’s mood gets even worse. “Declan Rand is filthier than a Hell’s Kitchen gutter,” Jessica informs her. 

Shawn meets her eyes again, and the sorrow in his gaze is genuine. “Sorry, Jules,” he says softly. “Danny Rand was right.”

Juliet opens her mouth to brush them off, but something inside catches her attention. Lassiter is on the phone with Chief Vick. She listens closer.

_”...worried about O’Hara,”_ he’s saying. _”First the business with her brother, and now some shit is going down involving that sketchy profiler she’s dating. She says she’s fine but I’m worried she’s going to snap.”_

Juliet gives Shawn and Jessica a quick smile, holds up an hand, and heads back through the sliding door and into the hotel room. She watches Carlton’s face fall as she enters; he obviously didn’t mean for her to hear him. She motions for him to give her the phone. He hesitates.

“Give me the phone,” she says. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, clearly weighing his options in his head. Then, as she takes another step forward, he caves.

“Everything is under control here,” Juliet tells the chief. “Whatever funny business is happening at Rand Robotics is all NYPD’s job. We’re holding up our end of the bargain with the O’Hara case. There have been a few unanticipated bumps in the road but we’re making progress. Have a nice evening,” she finishes. Hanging up the phone, she turns and gives her partner a stony look.

“Carlton, how long have you known me?”

“It’s going on five years, now.”

“And in those five years, have I ever, even once, let personal issues get in the way of my work?”

Lassiter’s brow furrows as he thinks for a bit. “No…” he answers tentatively.

“Of the two of us, who made a case much harder than necessary because he was afraid to interrogate his father-in-law?”

“Me.”

“And who was away at a nice, fancy restaurant while his partner was slogging through the mud at an honest-to-god murder camp?”

“Me.”

“And who _arrested her own brother_ because even though she loved him, even though she’d looked up to him for a long time, he broke the law and she had to do her job?”

“You.”

“Please just give me the benefit of the doubt here, okay? That’s all I want. I’m trying to do my job and I can’t do that if you’re getting me sent to a psych eval.”

“O’Hara, I’m just trying to help-”

“Thank you, Carlton, but you’re really not.” With that, she storms out of the room.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**9:45pm EST, 48th st hotel, Manhattan**

Shawn barely even has time to open the door before Juliet sweeps past him, barging into the room and flopping onto his bed, where she immediately curls into the fetal position. Slightly alarmed, the psychic looks around for his best friend, but of course Gus has chosen the worst possible time to refill their ice bucket.

“Uh… Jules?” Shawn ventures. 

She turns a bit to look up at him. “Yeah?”

“Are you o- wait, that’s a stupid question. Uh, is there anything I can do?”

Juliet sits up, blushing a little. “Um, could you… if it wouldn’t be weird.. Just, like, hold me?”

Shawn smiles a bit, then joins her on the side of the bed. He slides an arm over her shoulder, and she leans into him. He’s a little bit surprised to find that he, too, is comforted by the warmth of her body. It’s a nice, calming, moment, so of course he has to ruin it by talking.

“I’m sorry about Declan,” he says softly.

Juliet gives him a sad smile. “No you aren’t.”

“Well, I’m sorry he hurt you, at least. No, scratch that, I’m pretty damn pissed at him for breaking you heart.”

His brows knit in confusion when Juliet laughs. “He didn’t break my heart, Shawn,” she says, turning to make eye contact.

“No?” He breathes, distracted by the sudden closeness.

Her breath ghosts over his lips when she answers. “He never had it in the first place,” she whispers.

“Oh really? Then who di-” Before he can finish, her lips are on his, and she’s kissing him in a way that’s only happened before in his dreams. Well, any kissing between them had thus far been a strictly imagined thing, but still. Very thorough kissing.

After nearly a minute, they break apart for air, and something in Shawn’s barely-functional brain thinks enough to push Juliet back before she can kiss him again. “Jules- wait- what are we doing?”

Her hands are under his t-shirt now, which does not help his attention span. “I think that’s pretty obvious,” she replies, kissing him again.

“Jules, we can’t- we shouldn’t-” gasping for breath makes his protests rather ineffective. 

She looks up at him with those beautiful blue eyes. “Are you honestly telling me you don’t want me?”

“Hell no, but-” all of this kissing is making it very hard for him to focus. “Juliet, you yourself said it would be a mistake,” he points out.

“What if I’ve changed my mind?” She breathes.

“Then you’ve changed it for the wrong reasons,” he replies.

“Shawn?”

“Huh?”

“This is too much talking, and not enough closeness.”

“Oh, I think we’re plenty clo-” And then they’re back to kissing, and Jules is pressing herself against him in a way that sets him on fire. Just when Shawn thinks that maybe he’s not going to resist this, the door opens.

“Shawn, what the hell?” Gus demands. Then, “Juliet!?”

“Um,” Juliet stutters, face flushed and breathing erratic. “Um, I was- I was just leaving. I-” she bites her lip as she looks at Shawn. “I’m sorry.”

Shawn stares in shock as Juliet leaves as quickly as she’d arrived. “What just happened?” Gus asks.

“Gus, buddy,” Shawn replies, “I have absolutely no idea.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**9:50pm EST, 48th St Hotel, Manhattan**

Lassiter frowns as the door bangs open and his partner storms in. “O’Hara-”

She doesn’t even turn to face him. “I’m going to bed.”

Well. Alright then. This case just gets better and better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy comments & kudos!


	4. The Only Ones with Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You think you're the only ones who've lost people?! You think you're the only ones with pain?! You think you can take your shit and dump it on me?! You don't get to do that! So you take your goddamn pain and live with it, assholes!"  
> -Jessica Jones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just occurred to me that I'm writing a really weird version of the ex-netflix MCU. Sorry if stuff doesn't make sense... I don't have an excuse. It's just in my head a certain way, and I forget what is and isn't canon.

**4:16am EST, Warehouse District, Hell’s Kitchen**

Frank paced back and forth. “So we’ve got the units, we’ve got the gear, what we don’t have is a base, or a way out. This’ll all be useless if we can’t group up in time for that conference.”

“You’re the one in charge,” Ewan shot back. “Where do we go from here?”

“We need a rendezvous with the support. That means we’re gonna need a helipad and a lot of guns. I think it’s time we left Hell’s Kitchen.”

“And went where?”

Frank opened a case of guns labeled **EMERGENCY**. “There’s a guy who controls all of the action in Harlem. He can make anyone do anything he asks, and he’s got a place big enough to land a helicopter on, not to mention one hell of a security team.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The marine cocked a large gun, then tossed one to Ewan. “You ever heard of Harlem’s Paradise?”

\/\/\/\/\/\/

**7:48am EST, Office of Nelson & Murdock, Hell’s Kitchen**

Karen stares at the NYPD file on Frank Castle without really seeing it. She’d read enough to know the cops didn’t know anything new, but can’t summon the energy to read through all of it. She lets out a sigh and drops her head into her hand.

“What are you doing her eso early?” Foggy asks. “Or, did you stay here all night?” She fakes a smile, but it doesn’t fool him. “Karen, you can talk to me,” he presses. “I mean, I’m already basically Matt’s therapist. You can’t be any worse than him.”

Karen chuckles a bit at that. “Foggy, you know those true crime tv shows? Dateline, 48 hours, all those?”

“You mean the most depressing shows on cable television? There’s your problem, Ms. Page, everyone who watches that stuff instantly loses all faith in humanity.”

_How can Foggy make me laugh when I’ve been stressed out for the past two days?_ “Oh, I agree totally. But, you know how the girlfriend is always all, ‘I can’t believe it, the man I know would never do this’? What am I supposed to do when I know he did?”

Foggy looks pensive. “Well, Karen, I think maybe it’s a bit like being a defense lawyer.”

“How so?”

“Sometimes you know you’re defending a guilty person, and it feels like you’re lying through your teeth, but you do it anyway. You do it because underneath whatever they’ve done wrong, the client is still a person. They deserve the best protection they can get,” he elaborates. “But… that protection shouldn’t come at the expense of others.”

Karen nods, understanding the warning he’s trying to give. “Frank is trying not to involve me in this. Every time I see him, which is not very often, he tells me to go, to distance myself from him while I still can. I don’t think he sees that if it were that easy, I wouldn’t be there in the first place.”

Foggy smiles sadly. “We can’t choose who we care about. I guess I of all people should understand that.”

Karen shuts her computer. “Let’s make coffee. I’ll drink to that.”

By the time Matt enters, their laughter is echoing through the office.

\/\/\/\/\/\/

**11:50am, Alias Investigations, Hell’s Kitchen**

“We don’t open until noon,” Jessica tells Shawn flatly. He ignores this, but he doesn’t try to enter her apartment or push into her personal space, so she doesn’t slam the door. Yet. 

“If you were a wanted fugitive looking for resources and support and a place to hide, where would you go?”

Jessica narrows her eyes. Guster, however, plays along with his friend’s charade. “Well, Shawn, I might go to the local hotspot for gangs and criminal activity, where I knew I could find others without being found.”

_This had better not be going where I think it’s going._ Apparently Spencer actually can’t read minds, because he doesn’t shut up. “Oh, Gus, do you mean that fancy club in Harlem? The one that was owned by a corrupt politician who died and now a bulletproof guy runs it?”

Jessica lets out a growl of frustration. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Get inside.” Just to relieve some of her anger, she hauls Spencer through the door by his shirt collar.

“I have a girlfriend,” he chokes.

“No, you don’t Shawn,” Guster argues.

“She kissed me. Once. It counts.”

“Shawn, shut up.”

“You should listen to your friend, psychic,” Jessica grunts. She can’t summon the energy to sit at her desk and be professional, so she grabs her laptop and flops on the couch. “How the hell did you find out about Harlem’s Paradise?”

“Oh, I can talk now?” Gus elbows Shawn forcefully. “Well, if you ask the right people…” he holds a hand to his head.

“Don’t tell me, then,” grumbles the PI. “Look, it’s highly unlikely they’re going to Harlem’s Paradise. And if they are, the probably won’t make it past the, uh, bouncers. I know how that place works. You don’t.”

“So help us out,” Gus suggests. 

“For starters,” adds Shawn, “I’m sensing you know a lot about the guy who runs it.”

“Yeah? Why? Because we’re both people with the shitty misfortune of gaining superpowers thanks to insane mad scientists who insisted they were saving our lives?”

“Pretty much, yeah. And also, after much conversation with the spirits, I have come to the conclusion that the NYPD really doesn’t want to share the fact that Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Matthew Murdock, and Danny Rand were the only four people to make it out of Midland Circle when that… imploded? Exploded? I don’t know, but you were there.”

Jessica stands up but doesn’t speak, instead rummaging through her bookshelves until she locates a bottle of whiskey. She takes a long drink, then turns back to her uninvited guests. “Look. I’m tracking a weapons shipment that fits the type Castle normally uses. If he and O’Hara had their guns taken by the NYPD, they’ll need new ones. If you two want to investigate Harlem’s Paradise, be my guest- I’ll even help you out from here. Run down there before it opens, ask for Luke Cage, tell them Jessica Jones sent you. I’ll shoot Luke a message. By all means, do whatever the hell you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you: If you go down this road, you might end up somewhere you don’t want to be. And I sure as hell won’t be there to save you.”

Gus looks suitably humbled by her speech, but Shawn only blinks. “Harlem’s Paradise, great. We’ll head in that direction.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/

**1:30pm EST, NYPD Harlem Precinct, Manhattan**

Shawn’s plans to obtain a coffee and something sugary from the break room come to a screeching halt when he recognizes the two people currently occupying it. Declan Rand, holding a bag emblazoned with the logo of some fancy boutique, is facing a very irate Juliet. Shawn quietly slips behind a file cabinet, beginning to eavesdrop. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but he’s never been one to make decisions based on what he should or shouldn’t do. He shifts slightly against the cabinet, finding the perfect angle to spy from.

“I heard about your undercover op that’s happening tonight, and, well, I’ve been through Harlem’s Paradise a few times, and I know the clientele it caters to, so I… I bought you something,” says Declan, opening the bag. Shawn catches sight of what must be a dress, of shiny blue fabric folded neatly inside the paper.

Juliet smiles thinly. “I appreciate the thought, Declan, but you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I figured since we’ve kinda hit a rough patch, maybe this would, I don’t know, make it a little better?” Juliet is silent. “...It matches your eyes,” he tries again. Shawn has to give him that one.

“Declan, I appreciate that your intentions are good, but I really don’t think this is appropriate. I mean, this is a very nice dress, but it’s for a work event. Also, to your point… well, when you hit a rough patch while driving, you slow down, right?”

“Yes?”

“I think- this is a horrible time to do this, and I’m sorry, but I absolutely cannot let anything here-” she gestures from herself to Declan- “get in the way of doing my job. I think we rushed into this relationship before we knew enough about each other. And now you’re in New York for your robotics company, and I’m only here until I catch my brother, and there are just so many reasons this isn’t going to work.”

Whatever Declan’s response is, Shawn doesn’t hear it. A hand grabs him roughly and pulls him down the hallway, too fast for Shawn to resist. They reach the bullpen and Shawn finally fees himself, rubbing at his arm and glaring at Lassiter. “Lassie, what the hell?”

“You’ve got better things to be doing than eavesdropping on O’Hara’s conversations. You could be checking with Captain Knight to make sure you know all you can about Harlem’s Paradise, or, better yet-” Lassie smiles, which Shawn finds slightly disconcerting- “you could go with Guster to find acceptable clothing for tonight. That way you’re out of my hair!” 

“Lassie, I know everything I need to know about Harlem’s Wonderland.”

“Paradise.”

“I’ve heard it both ways. Anyway, it’s all up here,” Shawn assures him, waving a hand near his head. “And around here.” A flailing arm circle through the air. “The spirits are all around us. As a matter of fact, the men’s room is very haunted. I’d be careful if I were you.”

“Why do I bother?” Lassiter grumbles, more to himself than Shawn. As he walks away, Shawn calls after him.

“Lassie, you don’t like him either, do you?”

The detective doesn’t bother turning around. “I don’t like anyone.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**9:19pm EST, Harlem’s Paradise, Manhattan**

Misty swirls her drink in her hand but doesn’t drink it. Her gaze drifts across the club, from the singers crooning on stage (this is their third Elvis cover, the Stokes had been better at music than this) to the people moving fluidly on the dance floor (she counts sixteen with rap sheets more than ten charges long) to the so-called businessmen exchanging money (dirty, no doubt) at the tables behind her. She doesn’t let her eyes linder on them for long, lest they notice her presence. Undercover work gets much more difficult when you’ve got a shiny metal arm that everyone can see.

Her own people are relaxing on the couch on either side of her. Well, physically they’re relaxed, but much like her, they’re alert for any change, any motion of importance. For example, all heads turn towards the large man making his way through the crowd.

“Luke,” Misty says, setting down her glass. “I wasn’t aware that you usually came down to greet your guests.”

“You lot are some interesting guests,” he retorts. “Not just you, but homeland security, and a couple of cops from California? And what the hell is Jess doing with those psychics?”

“I’m not psychic,” Guster corrects. He points at Spencer next to him. “He is.”

“Do you always so blatantly announce the identities of your guests?” queries Madani.

Misty holds up a hand to quiet their side of the couch. “Luke, we’re not here to mess up your operation. We care about exactly two people, who may be here tonight. You think you can let us find them? We’re not planning on causing a fuss.”

Luke gives them all a heavy once-over. Thinking about what he sees, Misty winces inwardly. _A few knockouts in fancy dresses, two guys who look like they stole their sports coats from their fathers’ wardrobe, and a cop who’s obviously packing heat. I’ve gone downhill since my first undercover stint in this place._ She folds her arms and glares at the bulletproof man; if being polite won’t cut it and she’s clearly not keeping her identity a secret, she can just intimidate him. “Cage, you know the deal.”

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. But a word of advice?” She raises an eyebrow. “Blend in more. Go to the bar, or something. Who knows, you might even dance.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**9:30pm EST, Harlem’s Paradise, Manhattan**

It’s been a long time since Lassiter danced with anyone, but the occasional SBPD event has kept him from totally losing the habit. He’s glad of that now as he swirls around the dance floor with Agent Madani. They’re both going through the motions, hands on shoulders and waists, but neither is paying more attention to the other than absolutely necessary. Lassiter is keeping an eye on a group of scruffy-looking (at least, by the club’s standards) men when Dinah speaks.

“I want you to trade places with Spencer. I think he may be distracting O’Hara from the case. Something’s going on with them and I don’t know what the hell it is, but it shouldn’t be happening now.”

Lassiter snorted. “I’ve been fighting that battle for years.” Looking over her shoulder, he realizes the group of men has grown, and now includes members of the club security. “I don’t think we’re gonna have time for much more dancing.” With a quickly executed twirl, he shows MadanI what he’s seeing, and she nods.

“Let’s move.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**9:32pm EST, Harlem’s Paradise, Manhattan**

Juliet finds it really inconvenient that she has to dance with the man she’s at least semi-in love with while also keeping an eye out for suspicious persons. Both of those things should get her full attention, but as it is, she has to divide it half and half. Absentmindedly, the detective takes a deep breath to calm her emotions.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Shawn says quietly.

_How does he always know exactly what I don’t want to talk about?_ “It’s alright. I was… out of line.”

“Honestly, I’m flattered,” he responds with a half-smile, clearly trying for humor. It’s one of her favorite things about him. She laughs a bit.

“Well, thank you for, uh, stopping me last night. If we had- if I had- it would have been a mistake.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to, uh, go out with you, but, ah-”

“Jules.” he cuts her off, and she stares at him, mouth gaping slightly. “I get it. Last night was a mess of emotions and shit. Some time, not in New York, when things get back to normal, we could go for dinner?”

Juliet is about to respond when she sees Carlton and Madani chasing a group of security men through the crowd. “Um. Yes, definitely, we should talk later, but not now, follow me.” To his credit, Shawn nods and stays right behind her. After scanning the area, Juliet finds an elevator, which she swipes them onto with a card she’d obtained in a totally legal way. “You ready?” She asks as they head for the top floor. Shawn grins.

“It’ll be fun.”


End file.
